Bad Ass
by esking
Summary: It wasn't dreaming Ariadne couldn't let go of after Inception. It was the thrill of the kill. T for death-inducing ninja assassins. Will get much stickier when one of her targets is accompanied by a certain...male.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

**Yup, so Ariadne's a tiny Canadian who's super smart and has awesome scarves. Obviously she has some chemistry with Arthur (and, it seems, every other male and/or female in Inception), and likes to draw mazes and help people with their personal issues, but I really feel like there should be more to her. So that's what this is. But I may cave and do some A/A, 'cause that's still very nice. Ahem…**

Ariadne slipped easily over the rooftop, lithe as a gymnast. She'd practiced the move a million times, both in dream time, and in real life. A fleeting shadow flipped itself over the edge of the roof, and she hung with one hand from the gutter while the other expertly worked a lock pick expertly into the window's lock. A clicked a second later, and she eased herself into the darkened room.

She had entered through Colden's office, which was locked from the inside. She padded across the expensive carpet in soft black boots. The street lamp outside cast a dull orange beam into the room, which she avoided, keeping to the walls, her tight black clothing blending into the dark walls. One gloved hand turned the door handle, and she emerged into the upstairs hallway. Colden slept at the other end, with his wife, Marie. Their children, Doug, nine, and Kasey, thirteen, were in the two adjacent rooms. Ariadne knew everything about the family. She knew each schedule, she knew their credit card numbers, she knew Doug's and Kasey's grades. She knew the mileage on Colden's car.

Silent as a ghost, Ariadne slipped through the door at the end of the hall, and into Colden's bed room. It was dominated by a queen size bed, headed by an iron, gate-like head board, over which was the severed head of a boar. Looking at it made her stomach squirm, which was odd, she reflected, considering her occupation. Colden was on the right side of the bed. His mouth was open in an unattractive fashion, and as he snored, his giant mustache fluttered gently.

Ariadne removed from an inside pocket of her suit a tiny hypodermic needle and bent over Colden's feet. He'd had surgery on his third toe the previous year, and had no feeling there. Gently, the pried the third and fourth toes apart, pricked the inner skin with the needle, and depressed the syringe until it was empty. The liquid would work its way through his bloodstream within two hours, and by morning he would have died of a heart attack.

As swiftly and silently as she had come, Ariadne moved back down the hall, into the office, out the window, and into the night, having accomplished her mission.

**Thanks for reading! Reviews always appersheated. The next chapter will be more detailified and exciting. And the chapter after that will be positively…Pointed. Hints there.**

**-esking**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading! Reviews appersheated. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Inception. Boo hoo. **

Ariadne had a very specific routine which followed every job. She returned to one of her apartments and removed her suit, which, thought she didn't like to admit it, really was a ninja suit. She would throw that in among her laundry for the week, and shower for exactly six minutes, with the heat at exactly 110 degrees. She would then dress in what she thought of as her "college student" outfit, which consisted of corduroy skinny jeans, a deliberately tattered pair of Converse, and a Beatles Abbey Road T-shirt.

Then she would eat half an organic grape fruit in her kitchen, with her hair in the ponytail she only allowed when wearing this outfit, and leave the apartment for the meeting point where she would collect her payment.

Today, a Tuesday, she was Chelsea White, hired assistant to the NYU professor of ecology, working part time for the elusive, mysterious Adrian, the hottest assassin on the market.

She was scheduled to meet the employer a noon sharp at the Starbucks on 54th and Lex. She arrived at 11:53, ordered a pumpkin spice latte, and sat at the last available table, jiggling her knee nervously and looking frequently over her shoulder to the door.

Exactly seven minutes later, two men entered wearing expensive business suits. The first was short and squat, with a watery eyes, hidden only partially by a graying goatee. The second was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders like a football player. His hair was buzzed and his nose was crooked, as though it had been broken and not healed properly.

Ariadne, hands jittering in a precise, measured way, readjusted her purple lens sunglasses, which were the signal that she was the person whom they were supposed to meet. The small man, James Sanders, sat opposite her and handed her a blue back pack, as per the instructions he had received two days earlier.

"H-Hi," Ariadne said, pitching her voice higher than normal. "This is for Ad-"

"Don't say his name!" Sanders hissed, widening his eyes in a threatening manner. "Are you insane?"

"Sorry," Ariadne muttered. "This is all of it?"

"Two hundred thousand." Sanders nodded pompously.

"'Kay," said Ariadne. She grabbed the strap of the back pack, measuring the amount of money in its heft. Yes, it was all there. "Um…thanks. Bye." She stood and walked out of the Starbucks.

The colored strobe lights of the club flashed in time with the pounding bass line of the music. Twisting throngs of scantily clad bodies filled the cleared space in the center of the room. Ariadne threw her hands in the air, laughing wildly, shamelessly pressing herself up against the man behind her. His drunken laughter carried to her ears even over the deafening music. He'd had seventeen shots of straight vodka, and was _still_ standing. But that was no problem.

Spinning around with a brilliant smile, and careful to give the man a very clear view down her tight, rather small shirt, Ariadne grabbed his hand and began to pull him across the dance floor. He lumbered in her wake, still dancing sporadically, but without any real coordination to his movements. She pushed through a back door marked EXIT, and let them out into a dark alley. It was cliché and she knew it, but that was irrelevant. He was still laughing as she let go of his hand and started walking faster down the alley.

"Hey, wait," he slurred, still laughing. "Baby, come back."

Ariadne turned to face him, smiling again. From her pocket, she withdrew a tiny bottle of water laced with ipecac, and handed it to him.

"Here, baby," she said in a low, sultry voice. "It'll wake you up. I don't want you fallin' asleep on me before we've had our fun."

He laughed dumbly and downed the bottle without question. He grimaced and dropped it, shattering glass across the filthy concrete. "That stuff's…nasty." He swallowed, and then doubled over and retched.

Cold and precise as a machine, Ariadne hit him on the back of the neck and pushed him on his back, leaving him in a pool of his own suffocating vomit.

The next day, Anna Christensen met Michael Anastasio at the Tully's on 37th and Pine, and collected from him a faux-leather purse containing $200,000.

**A/N: Sorry about the grossness. Stay tuned for a familiar (and rather attractive) face.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapitre Trois**

**Oh snap. That's right, I know French. But not really, just a little. Je connais comment dire "Je suis un singe." Et Jeff Daniels est deja mort. Et le singe est sur la branche. Il fume une pipe. Il conduit l'autobus. Il est tres etrange, n'est-ce pas? Oui, c'est quoi je crois. **

**Apologies for any misspelled words. I'm a little rusty. **

"Hey, Ari, I got another call."

Ariadne looked up from her sketch book at the sound of the familiar voice. "For Adrian?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"From whom?" She stood away from her desk and walked into the kitchen, where her room mate, Jake Swanson, was setting a steaming tray onto a cooling rack. He pulled off his oven mitts and said, "It was a rep from Cobol Engineering." He nodded toward a thin manila folder on the kitchen counter.

Ariadne picked it up and opened to the first page. It showed a picture of a skinny, olive skinned man in his thirties, with greasy, chin length hair and wide, round eyes. "Lukas Nash," she said aloud. She looked up at Jake and asked, "Did he give a deadline?"

"Yeah," Jake took a folded sticky note out of his jeans pocket, "He said…" he squinted at the handwriting, "Next…Thursday. Is that a six?" He held out the note. Ariadne examined it.

"It's an eight." She smiled. "Jake, I think we have a problem when I can read your handwriting better than you can."

"But I can make better cookies than you." He offered her one from the cooling tray.

Ariadne took a bite of steaming cookie. "This is true," she said, mouth full. "This is very true." He chocolate eyes roved casually over the kitchen, and came to rest on the microwave's clock. She swore and stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

"What?" asked Jake, watching her frantically finger combing her hair.

"I'm late!" She scampered out of the kitchen into the bathroom, where the outfit she'd picked out the night before was hanging on the door.

"You're going on a date _tonight?_" Jake called, incredulous. "But what about the job?" Shouldn't you start recon?"

Ariadne emerged from the bathroom lopsided, wearing only one high-heeled shoe, and shoving her arm through the shoulder strap of a slinky blue dress. She had her pouty face on.

Jake folded his arms and frowned. "No."

Ariadne pushed her lip out even further and widened her eyes. "Aw, come one." She wrapped her arms around his apron-clad waist. Even in a high heel, her head still only reached his shoulder.

Jake stood resolute for a second more, and then groaned and said, "Fine. I'll do some research. _Some._ This is _your_ job."

"Thank you!" Ariadne squealed. "Thank you thank you!" She hugged him tightly and then hobbled back into the bathroom, clacking on every other step. She re-emerged two minutes later wearing all of her outfit, lightly made up, and grabbed her purse and keys. Standing on her toes, she kissed Jake lightly on the cheek and hurried out the apartment door, calling "Bye!" and the same time Jake said, "Have fun," in an exasperated undertone.

**oOo**

In retrospect, Ariadne thought she should have suspected what was coming. Sam, her boyfriend of almost a year, had invited her to a cheap Chinese place, making Ariadne feel instantly awkward and overdressed in the slinky blue dress. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet, almost terse, all through the meal, and kept checking his watch.

Still, Ariadne was caught completely by surprise when he abruptly set down his fork with a clatter and said, "I think we should break up."

"Hmm?" Ariadne mumbled, having just taken a huge bite of rice. She swallowed. "What was that?"

"I think we should break up," Sam said again. "We're just…" hi eyes were fixed on a spot over Ariadne's shoulder. "I just don't think this is going anywhere."

"Does it need to?" Ariadne spluttered, her voice rising a little in pitch.

"Look at me, Ari," said Sam, gesturing to himself. "I'm pushing thirty. I'm being considered for general executive. I need to have a serious relationship. I can't be seen in a…" he waved his hand vaguely between himself and Ariadne/

"In a what?" Ariadne asked. Instinctively, her hand had curled into a fist around her chop sticks, and her mind began flicking through the 17 ways she could kill Sam with them, and settling on the most painful.

"You know…" Sam looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry." And he stood up and left. Ariadne was left staring at the table. The bastard haven't even paid.

**oOo**

Fifteen minutes later, Ariadne returned to her apartment, having recovered from the brunt of the shock. In her head, she was frantically scanning her memories with Sam, searching for any signs, and indications of what was coming. She could find none. Apparently it wasn't enough to be a brilliant assassin to keep a relationship going.

Inside, Jake was hunched over the encrypted laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. He looked up immediately when he heard the front door close behind Ariadne.

"Hey," he said. "I wasn't expecting you until-" he broke off when he caught sight of Ariadne's face. In an instant, he understood, and nodded sympathetically. "You need a break-up movie night. I'll go get Pulp Fiction."

"No," Ariadne sighed, shaking her head. "Show me the research, I want to get Hannover tonight." She started towards the counter where the laptop rested, but Jake rose to his feet and blocked her path.

"I should think not," he said in a stuffy British accent.

Ariadne could have knocked him flat in half a second, but Jake was the one person whom they both knew she would never harm. Instead, she whined, "Jake, come on."

"What's the first rule of being an assassin?"

Ariadne glared up at him with venom that would have driven most men back several paces, but Jake held his ground, unfazed. "What's the first rule?" he repeated sternly.

Ariadne slumped. "Never kill when you're emotional," she grumbled.

"Right." Jake place a hand on each of her shoulders and spun her around. "Now, you go get out of that gorgeous dress, put on some pajamas, and I'll make the popcorn."

Ariadne shuffled obediently out of the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 3 Revised

**Chapitre Trois**

**Sorry! This is still Chapter 3, but I uploaded the original without checking for typos, and I accidentally called Nash "Hannover" because I forgot I'd already said his name, so this is just the same chapter, but edited. You can skip it if you didn't mind the typos.**

**Oh snap. That's right, I know French. But not really, just a little. Je connais comment dire "Je suis un singe." Et Jeff Daniels est deja mort. Et le singe est sur la branche. Il fume une pipe. Il conduit l'autobus. Il est tres etrange, n'est-ce pas? Oui, c'est quoi je crois. **

**Apologies for any misspelled words. I'm a little rusty. **

"Hey, Ari, I got another call."

Ariadne looked up from her sketch book at the sound of the familiar voice. "For Adrian?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"From whom?" She stood away from her desk and walked into the kitchen, where her room mate, Jake Swanson, was setting a steaming tray onto a cooling rack. He pulled off his alligator oven mitts and said, "It was a rep from Cobol Engineering." He nodded toward a thin manila folder on the kitchen counter.

Ariadne picked it up and opened to the first page. It showed a picture of a skinny, olive skinned man in his thirties, with greasy, chin length hair and wide, bloodshot eyes. "Lukas Nash," she said aloud. She looked up at Jake and asked, "Did he give a deadline?"

"Yeah," Jake took a folded sticky note out of his jeans pocket, "He said…" he squinted at the handwriting, "Next…Thursday. Is that a six?" He held out the note. Ariadne examined it.

"It's an eight." She smiled. "Jake, I think we have a problem when I can read your handwriting better than you can."

"But I can make better cookies than you." He offered her one from the tray.

Ariadne took a bite of steaming cookie. "This is true," she said, mouth full. "This is very true." Her chocolate eyes roved casually over the kitchen, and came to rest on the microwave's clock. She swore and stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

"What?" asked Jake, watching her frantically finger combing her hair.

"I'm late!" She scampered out of the kitchen into the bathroom, where the outfit she'd picked out the night before was hanging on the door.

"You're going on a date _tonight?_" Jake called, incredulous. "But what about the job?" Shouldn't you start recon?"

Ariadne emerged from the bathroom lopsided, wearing only one high-heeled shoe, and shoving her arm through the shoulder strap of a slinky blue dress. She had her pouty face on.

Jake folded his arms and frowned. "No."

Ariadne pushed her lip out even further and widened her eyes. "Aw, come one." She wrapped her arms around his apron-clad waist. Even in a high heel, her head still only reached his shoulder.

Jake stood resolute for a second more, and then groaned and said, "Fine. I'll do some research. _Some._ This is _your_ job."

"Thank you!" Ariadne squealed. "Thank you thank you!" She hugged him tightly and then hobbled back into the bathroom, clacking on every other step. She re-emerged two minutes later wearing all of her outfit, lightly made up, and grabbed her purse and keys. Standing on her toes, she kissed Jake lightly on the cheek and hurried out the apartment door, calling "Bye!" and the same time Jake said, "Have fun," in an exasperated undertone.

**oOo**

In retrospect, Ariadne thought she should have suspected what was coming. Sam, her boyfriend of almost a year, had invited her to a cheap Chinese place, making Ariadne feel instantly awkward and overdressed in the slinky blue dress. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet, almost terse, all through the meal, and kept checking his watch.

Still, Ariadne was caught completely by surprise when he abruptly set down his fork with a clatter and said, "I think we should break up."

"Hmm?" Ariadne mumbled, having just taken a huge bite of rice. She swallowed. "What was that?"

"I think we should break up," Sam said again. "We're just…" his eyes were fixed on a spot over Ariadne's shoulder. "I just don't think this is going anywhere."

"Does it need to?" Ariadne spluttered, her voice rising a little in pitch.

"Look at me, Ari," said Sam, gesturing to himself. "I'm pushing thirty. I'm being considered for general executive. I need to have a _serious_ relationship. I can't be seen in a…" he waved his hand vaguely between himself and Ariadne.

"In a what?" Ariadne asked. Instinctively, her hand had curled into a fist around her chop sticks, and her mind began flicking through the 17 ways she could kill Sam with them, and settling on the most painful.

"You know…" Sam looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry." And he stood up and left. Ariadne was left staring at the table. The bastard haven't even paid.

**oOo**

Fifteen minutes later, Ariadne returned to her apartment, having recovered from the brunt of the shock. In her head, she was frantically scanning her memories with Sam, searching for any signs, and indications of what was coming. She could find none. Apparently it wasn't enough to be a brilliant assassin to keep a relationship going.

Inside, Jake was hunched over the encrypted laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. He looked up immediately when he heard the front door close behind Ariadne.

"Hey," he said. "I wasn't expecting you until-" he broke off when he caught sight of Ariadne's face. In an instant, he understood, and nodded sympathetically. "You need a break-up movie night. I'll go get Pulp Fiction."

"No," Ariadne sighed, shaking her head. "Show me the research, I want to get Nash tonight." She started towards the counter where the laptop rested, but Jake rose to his feet and blocked her path.

"I should think not," he said in a stuffy British accent.

Ariadne could have knocked him flat in half a second, but Jake was the one person whom they both knew she would never harm. Instead, she whined, "Jake, come on."

"What's the first rule of being an assassin?"

Ariadne glared up at him with venom that would have driven most men back several paces, but Jake held his ground, unfazed. "What's the first rule?" he repeated sternly.

Ariadne slumped. "Never kill when you're emotional," she grumbled.

"Right." Jake place a hand on each of her shoulders and spun her around. "Now, you go get out of that gorgeous dress, put on some pajamas, and I'll make the popcorn."

Ariadne shuffled obediently out of the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4!**

**This is the real chapter four, even though it says chapter 5. Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated. Apologies for any confusion with chapter 3, the mark's name is NASH! (_not_ Hannover).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception, but I do have a sugar quill I got from a friend who went to Harry Potter-ville in Orlando. It's grape.**

Lukas Nash living in a dingy apartment building on Manhattan Island. Even in the late evening, Ariadne could see the grime which coated the buildings crooked bricks. Most of the windows were cracked or broken, and all were coated in a thick layer of scum. None of this, however, fazed Ariadne as she pulled a black knit ski mask over her face, readjusted her grip on the metal baseball bat, and knocked twice on Nash's door.

"Who is it?" asked a husky, muffled voice.

"It's me," said Ariadne, lowering her own voice into a grunt.

There was the rattle of a chain and the click of a lock, and the door swung inward a few cautious inches, revealing a sliver of a sweaty face.

In a flash, Ariadne kicked in the door, knocking Nash backwards into a tiny, filthy living room. He staggered away, shock evident on his face.

The plan, which Ariadne had formulated with Jake, was to make the assassination look like a break-in, smash the whole place up with the bat, and leave small amounts of marijuana and oxycodone, to explain motivation.

Before she could do any of this, however, Ariadne caught sight of the room's second occupant. He was tall and lean, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. His dark hair was neatly combed away from his face, which was inset with dark, intelligent eyes that roved over Ariadne. Even with her mask on, she felt horribly exposed, like he was x-raying her. She stood, motionless, for a moment, and then fled the apartment.

**oOo**

Ariadne dropped the two packets of drugs onto the kitchen counter with shaking hands. The apartment was dark; Jake was already in bed. She moved silently into her own room, pulling off her clothes and replacing them with pajamas.

A shadow filled her doorway. "What happened, Ari?" said a bleary voice.

Ariadne didn't answer.

Jake came into the room and sat down next to her on the bed . "Why didn't you plant the drugs?"

"He wasn't home," Ariadne lied stiffly.

"Yes, he was. What happened?"

Ariadne took a deep breath. "Someone else was at the apartment."

"Why didn't you kill him too?"

This question was met with silence, but Jake guessed immediately why. "You knew him?"

With a weak laugh, Ariadne said, "Didn't we agree you wouldn't read my mind anymore?"

"Was he from Paris?"

He had reached the heart of the issue in a matter of seconds. Maybe he really _was_ psychic. He'd always had the uncanny intuition, and Ariadne both loved and hated him for it. Jake and Ariadne knew everything about each other, except what had happened six years ago in Paris. Jake had allowed Ariadne her one big secret. Her one failure.

She nodded.

"Did he hurt you?"

Ariadne had to smile at Jake's protectiveness, even though they both knew she could kill him with her pinky finger.

"No," she said softly. "I'll go back tomorrow. We have two days until the deadline. You go back to bed."

Jake wrapped his arm around Ariadne's shoulders and kissed her on the top of the head, then stood up and returned to his own room.

**oOo**

It had been Jake's idea for Ariadne to get a real job, insisting that it was unrealistic for her to be by all appearances unemployed, and yet be living as comfortably as they did. She'd wanted to work at the architecture firm six blocks from the apartment, but the hours were inflexible, and, as Jake pointed out, Ariadne's night time escapades would not have gone unnoticed for long. So it was Wayward Coffeehouse for Ariadne. It was a sci-fi themed chain that had started in Seattle, she was told, but had expanded across the country in the last three years.

The job basically included making lattes and the coffeehouse's trademark ploughmans, which were named after characters of Joss Whedon's "Firefly". However, she learned that a knowledge of sci-fi lore was a de facto requirement of the job when one of her fellow employees had said in a British accent, "These aren't the droids you're looking for," and had been thoroughly appalled by Ariadne's blank stare. She'd promptly been forcibly invited to a Star Wars marathon, and been loaned all six of the Star Trek series, both Battlestar Galacticas, Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dollhouse, and, for good measure, "Blade Runner" and "The Princess Bride". She'd also been given a number of books, including Dune and Lord of the Rings.

**0**

Work was slow after around seven a.m., when most breakfast customers had moved on to their own businesses, so Ariadne sat on the stool behind the counter, reading Dune Messiah. At around nine, the bells on the door tinkled, and she looked up, and felt her blood freeze.

**Oooh cliff-hanger! Don't worry, I'll upload chapter 5 when I'm done with my homework. Thanks for reading. **

**Side note: Wayward Coffeehouse is a real place, although right now it's only in Seattle, but I hope one day it will be nation wide because it's _amazing._ It's like joy on Earth. Any Whedon fans who live in or are visiting Seattle should definitely check it out. Peace and love and turtle doves. All reviews appersheated. **

**-esking**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**All reviews appersheated. Thanks for reading! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. Mustaches are the new Hello Kitty. Sorry, that was the insane 7/8 of my mind. I have to keep an eye on it.**

"What are you doing here?"

Arthur gave her his tiny half smile. It looked exactly the same as she remembered. In her mind's eye, she saw vividly Arthur, dressed in the pressed black tuxedo, hopping down off the night stand. _Can't drop you without gravity…_ _Well,_ she thought, _I fell._

"Can I get a…" his dark, beautiful (_stop it!_) eyes flicked up to the menu board, "Zoe ploughman?"

Ariadne just stared at him.

"Please?"

She blinked, shaking her head as though to clear it of cobwebs, and turned away to make the ploughman. Her hands were trembling. _Again!_ She was a trained professional! She had been for years. There was no way this... this _man_ could just show up and… She slammed the fridge door shut and viciously sliced a piece of cheddar cheese off the block, and then reached for a tomato, which she sliced with even more venom, relishing the watery red liquid which ran over her hands.

"I meant what are you doing here in _New York_," she lied, laying the ingredients on a long, oval shaped slice of bread and setting it in the microwave.

"Work," Arthur answered. "I know you probably don't want to see me-"

"You're damn right about that," Ariadne snapped. "There's a Starbucks right across the fucking street, why didn't you just go there?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

Ariadne turned around, temper flaring, angrily pushing back the memories which welled around the edges of her vision.

_"You have to go now!" Cobb bellowed over the howling wind. _

_"Don't lose yourself!" she screamed, gripping the wooden post for all she was worth, while an almighty forced yanked relentlessly at her. "Find Saito and bring him back!"_

_"I will!" was the last thing she heard as she hurtled toward the earth, hair whipping around her face, stinging her eyes. She squeezed them shut and WHAM! She caught a brief glimpse of a grey ceiling which sparked and crackled, and then water filled her mouth and ears, and she was surrounded by frothing, murky blue. Arthur's face loomed out of the dark, offering her the mouthpiece for the compressed air. She sucked on it gratefully, her senses sharpening as her lungs filled with delicious, wondrous air. She offered the mouthpiece to Arthur and wriggled out the window, leaving Cobb's inert, sleeping form in the van._

**0**

_She was warm and dry, reclining in a white leather seat. Soft light streamed into the cabin, so deceptively innocent. She saw Cobb's eyes flicker open, and, for an instant, caught a glimpse inside, into the fear and uncertainty he hid so well, into the torment and horror through which he'd walked to open his eyes once more. He was looking at the seat behind her, jaw clenched. She turned around. Saito's eyes were still closed. _

**0**

_"Ma'am. _Ma'am!" _Ariadne refocused on the LAPD officer in front of her, tearing her eyes away from Cobb's retreating back as he was accompanied by three armed officers out of the airport. "I need you to sign this line here, and then you can go."_

_Her hand was shaking so badly, the signature barely looked like her own. She looked back up just in time to see Cobb shoved forcefully into the back seat of a police car. His expression was blank, dead. She saw Eames, walking casually out the doors as though nothing was wrong. She saw him wink as he held the door open for two girls wearing loose tank tops and mini shorts, and her stomach squirmed with disgust. They had failed. _She _had failed. _

_"Thank you," said the officer, and Ariadne started to walk away. However, before she'd gotten more than three steps, a voice called, "Just a moment!" She turned. "I'm afraid we have to ask you a few questions. If you'll just come this way."_

_They took her to a small, windowless room. Her last view of the terminal was of Arthur, neat suit standing out among the comfortable jeans, sweatpants, and shorts, his eyes looking right into hers, and then sliding away, cool as ever._

"Well, isn't that great for you," she said icily. The microwave beeped and she pulled out the steaming ploughman. "Four-eighty-three."

Arthur handed over the change, and his fingers brushed hers. She glared, putting the cheesy bread into a paper bag and saying, "To go. So go." Arthur took the bag, but didn't move.

"I said _go_."

"You're angry because I didn't wait for you."

"I'm angry because you have no fucking remorse for what you did!"

"And what exactly did I do?" Arthur's eyes bore into hers. She searched them for any kind of emotion, remorseful or otherwise, but as usual, there was none.

"You _failed_! We all did! Because of us, Cobb will never see his kids again. He'll never be able to walk through his own front door, never get to…cook dinner, or help with homework, or go to graduation…" all of the regrets that had built up over the years, stored so far back in her mind she didn't even know they were there, spilled out of her at once. She fired in rapid succession at Arthur, wanting to wound, wanting to inflict her own turmoil upon the irascible man in front of her.

"It wasn't us that failed," said Arthur quietly when she had finished. "We didn't bring Mal in."

"So it's Cobb's fault?"

"Yes."

**Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated. My recommendation for Wayward still stands.**

**-esking**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**All readers and reviews appersheated, I don't own Inception. Sometimes life just doesn't work out. *sigh* Apologies for profanity in both this and the previous chapter.**

The second Ariadne returned home, still fuming, Jake was talking a mile a minute. "Hey Ari, you know that guy who was hitting on you at Wayward today? Yeah, he's bad news, he's really bad news. And I know you're an assassin and you're used to dealing with guys like that, but this guy is seriously, _seriously_ not not _not_ good. I mean, I looked him up, and he's been suspected of, like, twenty murders. And not in the assassin type way. Like the personal type way. He's super scary, and he's part of this crazy, underground crime thing with this crazy drug called Somnacin or some shit, and he's totally whacked. I know you're still smarting from Sam, but you should _definitely_ turn him down."

Ariadne blinked, completely stunned by this flood of words. "Go back to the part where he was hitting on me," she said before she could stop herself. "What the…_what?_"

It was Jake's turn to look surprised. "You couldn't tell? Oh my God, he was _totally_ into you. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten that look from guys asking me out. But as I was saying, he is _crazy_ not good guy. Remember Dom Cobb? That guy they put away a couple years ago for chucking his wife out a hotel room window? Yeah, well this guy was best buddies with him."

"Jake, _calm down_," said Ariadne, closing the front door. "I know who he is. And he _wasn't _hitting on me. He was…" she broke off. "He was just being an asshole."

"What kind of asshole?" asked Jake. "Like the kind that lies about being attracted to you just so he can get laid? 'Cause I've dealt with those, and believe me, they're harder to get rid of than you might think."

At this, Ariadne actually laughed aloud. "No, Jake. Not that kind of asshole. Don't worry about it. I don't think he'd recognize a girl if she stripped naked and gave him a lap dance."

Jake closed his eyes and smiled, joking, "Mmm, I wouldn't mind that."

Ariadne laughed again. "Sweetheart, you are so flaming gay you make the room temperature go up."

"But _she _doesn't have to know that."

Ariadne shook her head exasperatedly. "_You're_ the crazy one. I need to get ready. I'm going after Nash tonight." She pushed past Jake into the kitchen, but a second later, he bounded in after her.

"Hey," he said shrewdly. "That guy, Thomas James, he was the one who was at Nash's place. The one you knew from Paris." He looked stricken. "Oh my gosh!" he gasped. "Does he _know_? About you?"

"Thomas James?" Ariadne repeated. "Is that his real name? I'd never have pegged that."

"Don't change the subject! Is he the one who was at Nash's apartment?"

"Yes, Jake. Yes he was. He doesn't know about me, now will you please stop talking about him? I've have enough of that man to last me a life time." Ariadne took a Diet Coke from the fridge.

"Ari's upset," Jake persisted. "You didn't even drink Diet Coke after Sam dumped you. Little Tommy's rattled the great Adrian."

Ariadne popped the top and took a giant swig of soda. "Stop calling him that! It's weird. And he hasn't rattled me. I'm thirsty."

"Thirsty for comfort food." Jake rested his chin on his interlocked fingers and surveyed Ariadne with a concerned expression. "What's troublin' ya, darlin'?"

Ariadne raised her eyebrows and didn't answer.

_"I don't believe you!" she cried, feeling almost hysterical. "You're not a person. You're a fucking machine. How can you not feel bad about this. We _destroyed _a life."_

_Arthur slid a page of newsprint across to her, bearing Robert Fischer's pallid face, and an article about the dismantling of the Fischer-Morrow Energy conglomerate. "Two lives," he said. _

_"How are you _alive!"

_"I'm alive _because_ I don't feel. I can't afford to. You're the architect. You're supposed to be creative, to draw on your pain and your love. That's not in my job description. I have to keep my subconscious under control, and I can't do that with regrets and passions hiding from my conscious mind. . I worked with Cobb because he was good and he paid well, and because I owed Mal. I left because he was of no more use to me. But _you_ still are."_

_Ariadne was at a loss for words. "You…you want to _hire_ me?"_

_Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've been in this game for a long time. I've seen a lot of architects and most of them are greedy, scummy assholes. But you're different. You make things real. You're smart, and original. Your subconscious hasn't yet been destroyed."_

_"So you're saying it would be if I kept dreaming?"_

_"But that's the important part, isn't it?" said Arthur, and Ariadne thought she almost detected a hint of fervor in his voice. "That you still dream. How many have you had since the job?"_

_His question was met with silence. _

_"Hmm? How many?"_

_Again, silence._

_"I didn't think so. Here." He placed a business card on the counter. "Think about it."_

_He took the ploughman and walked easily out of the store, as though he was blissfully oblivious to the horrible conflict he'd left in his wake._

Ariadne's fingers brushed against the little card as she pushed her right hand into her pocket, holding the silver can in her left.

"You're being ridiculous. You're just obsessed because _you_ like him."

Jake laughed. "Nice try. He's definitely not my type. I like a little more…_muscle._ Like Rocky."

"Arthur's got muscles," Ariadne protested, and then clamped her lips shut, mentally kicking herself.

"Oh indeed," said Jake. "_Heart muscles."_ He sighed tragically. "Why is it always the bad boys?"


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Thank you to all my lovely readers, even the homely ones, you are lovely in my eyes. Ahem. Who said that? You're all beautiful, just the way you are. Collectively. Up close is a little iffy. Thank God I'm hiding from you all behind a computer screen. Heavens to Mergetroid. Sorry everyone, the koala in my brain hijacked my fingers for a moment, that was him not me. But I'll leave it there, because I find it mildly amusing. And also to give Mr. You-know-who-you-are something interesting to read. Speaking of which, Psych is a great show. Goodness! Sorry. That was the flamingo in my brain. He is due to die _very soon._ Probably by drowning in the Caspian Sea. Ahem. You should all be glad I have the platypus under wraps. He has a serious potty mouth. *&%&#*(#(&%^($(&#^%. That was him. Swearing at the Johnny Depps on my right and left shoulders. As opposed to the George Clooneys on my right and left ears. Is that weird? Don't answer that.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Inception**

Jake had allowed Ariadne her secret about Paris, because she had allowed him his secret about how he'd funded his enrollment at Harvard Med (out of which he'd dropped a month into his second term, when he'd realized that the method was more profitable than becoming a doctor, not to mention much more suited to his personality.)

Because this story is written mostly from Ariadne's perspective, anyone who is potentially reading this story doesn't get to know what this secret method is, because the great omnipotent writer in the sky/desk chair is a great big meanie like that, and has not actually yet decided on the actual method. Suggestions may be placed in the offering basket to the great goddess Esking, who is great and powerful.

Due to this significant change in career, Jake also possessed a respectable amount of espionage skills, and he decided to have a personal chat with Arthur himself, because, he said to assuage his protesting conscience, he hadn't gotten to use them in a painfully long while. So he followed Arthur covertly to a rented studio on 12th avenue, and surveyed him with the toys left over from his college days.

The subject, as Jake thought of, as he and Ariadne had been unable to come to a consensus on whether his name was Arthur or Thomas (or, as further illegitimate research yielded, Brendan, Rex, Lyle, Roger, Bobby, Joe, Wilee, John, Morgan, Todd, or Chris), arrived at the studio at exactly 6:00 am, carrying a black computer bag slung over his shoulder. At the studio, he met with two other men, whom research had yielded were named Christian Alexander and Toby McKinney. They spent most of the day working individually, Arthur on a silver briefcase which Jake knew dispensed Somnacin, Alexander on a paper-Mache model of a maze, and McKinney on the laptop Arthur had brought, along with occasionally writing something on a classroom-sized white board.

If there was one thing Jake hated more than criminals who weren't him, it was criminals who did crazy stuff like make paper-Mache mazes. Insane criminals gave a bad name to the rest of them.

**oOo**

"Your boyfriend's even crazier than I thought," said Jake when Ariadne returned to the apartment after work.

"What makes you say that?" asked Ariadne, looking up warily.

"He's got a buddy who just spends his entire day making some sort of model castle. And the other guy? He ordered a freaking _pina colada, _at The Ram!"

Ariadne nodded. "Toby McKinney?" she said.

"How'd you know?"

"Arthur told me about him. Apparently he's got a…you know."

Jake's face split into a suggestive grin. "Fetish?"

Ariadne smiled. "I was going to say obsession." She became serious again. "Jake, you really shouldn't be paying any attention to Arthur. He's like one of those bombs they send the defusing squads in for. You just stay as far away as possible and hope for the best. And right now I'm hoping that he'll be leaving me alone for good this time. Get ready."

"What for?" asked Jake, nonplussed.

"For Nash's surprise party. You're coming with me," Ariadne clarified. "He'll be expecting a tiny ninja now. We'll have to go for the thug tack now. I bought you some scary thug clothes. Now go get ready."

**Thanks for reading. Reviews appersheated. I got kind of lost on this chapter, and went to Mr. You-know-who-you-are for help, and he suggested the pina colada, so that's where that came from. The next chapter will pick up where I meant to leave off, so all will be set right in the world. Don't forget your holy offerings.**

**-esking.**


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